Empire Without Heirs
by BLVD4476
Summary: It's the day after Claire's interview on national television, but all she can think about are the children she never had. Will she ever be able to reason with Francis to start a family? One shot.


**A/N:** This is just a one shot based on Chapter 17 events and the aftermath. Please let me know what you think because I am considering uploading a better (and longer) House of Cards fanfiction.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing from House of Cards.

* * *

Claire sat in her office the day after her interview, trying to get any kind of work done, but was distracted by the interview anywhere she looked. Requests for more interviews poured in, her social media was on fire, and almost every major news outlet was still reporting it this morning. She silenced her phone and declined all further interview requests. She just needed to clear her mind.

All she could think about were her children.

She wondered what they would've been like, all grown up. She also knew that would've meant she would've been a different person herself. She probably wouldn't have graduated from college and never would've met Francis.

She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind, locking them away, and picked up her cell phone. She leaned back in her leather chair and closed her eyes.

"Hello, Claire," Francis answered. The sound of his voice immediately calmed her.

"Francis," she sighed, now at ease.

"Is someone bothering you about the interview? I can send Meechum or Doug over-"

"No, nothing's wrong," she said calmly. "I just..." she opened her eyes and looked around the office surrounding her. She could only imagine a toddler running around it without a care in the world. "...it's nothing. Will you be home for dinner tonight?"

Francis looked at his watch and saw it was around 3:45 pm. He looked at Doug standing in front of him and smiled. "Yes, I'll be home for dinner. I could even pick something up, if you'd like."

"That would be nice," she smiled. "You decide. I'll see you in a few hours."

"I love you, Claire."

"Love you too, Francis."

They both hung up, and she heard the lies she told on live national television last night replay over and over in her mind. That she only had one abortion. That the baby wasn't Francis's.

She wouldn't allow herself to think about it anymore. She had to smother these thoughts again.

* * *

"Meechum is getting rid of all of the reporters as we speak," Francis said, setting two carryout bags of food on the kitchen counter. "It was a madhouse out there."

"The ribs smell delicious," Claire said, walking in and giving him a hug.

"It's been almost a month since I've seen Freddy. I had to stop by," he smiled. "I'll be back downstairs in a moment."

He went upstairs and hung his jacket up, then changed into more comfortable and casual loafers. When he came back downstairs, he saw Claire had already plated their food and was pouring them each a glass of sweet tea.

Francis smiled as he approached the dinner table and saw Claire bringing their tea over to accompany the ribs. They sat across from each other and inquired about the other's day before being interrupted by his phone ringing.

"Can't I eat dinner with my wife in peace?" He raised his voice as he set a rib down and wiped his hands. He pulled out his phone and saw it was Doug. He stood up and answered it, motioning for Claire not to wait on him.

"Doug, have you heard anything back from China on the..."

His voice trailed off as he walked into the other room. Claire sighed and finished her dinner, then put Francis' plate in the oven to stay warm. She washed the few dishes in the sink, and as she was drying them, she heard Meechum scanning someone with his security wand. She set the dry plate down and went into the living room to see who was there. She saw Francis and Doug sitting down on the suede sofa and she smiled. She knew even with sleeves rolled up, comfortable shoes on, and alcohol on hand, their work never ended.

"Claire, how are you this evening?" Doug asked casually, putting on his glasses.

"I'm fine, Doug. Would you like some dinner or something to drink?"

"Just a glass of water, please."

"Francis?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Claire," he said. "What did Tusk have to say about it?"

She went to the kitchen and got one of their nicer glasses out, and filled it with filtered ice and water from the fridge. She took it to Doug and he thanked her, and she made her way upstairs.

"Doesn't he understand that _he_ is the conflict of interest here? I am not going to lose out on this deal just because of him. I won't be made to look like the fool again," he sighed.

"Frank," Doug said softly, taking his glasses off and turning to look directly at his boss and friend. "How is Claire? I know that interview was rough."

"She's fine. She handled it very well. She wouldn't have done it if she doubted herself in the slightest."

"How are you?"

"I am fine, Doug. Look, just talk to Tusk and Remy and get them both to assure me this deal is a go," he demanded.

"Yes, sir," he said, standing up and putting his glasses in his breast pocket. "Good evening, Frank."

"See you tomorrow, Doug."

Doug escorted himself out and left Francis to his own thoughts. He rarely worried about Claire, he knew she was more than capable of holding her own. She didn't want to be worried about, she only wanted his companionship. But Doug's comment made him wonder if Claire was hurting. She seemed mostly fine last night when they last talked, but he knew how well she could hide her worries and emotions.

He saw Doug's untouched water and took it to the kitchen, and took his food out of the oven and finished it, trying to enjoy it. He knew he wouldn't enjoy much of anything until this deal was locked in and he knew Claire was ok.

* * *

Claire turned off the almost scalding shower and stepped out, drying off and wrapping the fluffy gray bath sheet around her body. She put on her moisturizer and lotion, and got dressed in soft gray pajama pants and a white tank top. She dried her hair with the towel and hung it up, then looked into the mirror. She saw a life of happiness behind her, filled with opportunities and great company, but also failures and backstabbers. She wondered how everything would have been changed had they had children.

She wondered how much it would change if they had a child now.

She combed her hair, put on her plush white bathrobe, and left the bathroom, going into their bedroom. She opened their window and grabbed a cigarette and lighter from her nightstand, knowing Francis would be up in a few minutes. No sooner than she lit the cigarette and took a drag off it, he was standing in the doorway.

"Special occasion?" He asked, referencing the real cigarette between her fingers and not the electronic one they had been trying to adjust to.

"You could say that," she said, sitting at an angle, but turning to face her husband as he took off his white dress shirt and shoes. He was now in his typical black socks, black dress pants, black belt, and white t-shirt, as he was every night before bed. He threw it into their clothes hamper and noticed she was now looking out the window into the night.

"I know you're not a woman of many words, but you seem preoccupied tonight," he said as he sat down beside her.

"In a sense," she said softly, handing him the cigarette. He took a quick puff and inspected it as it rested between his fingers.

"Is this about the interview? You did a fine job, Claire. All this publicity with McGinnis will blow over eventually."

"I'm not worried about McGinnis," she said calmly, looking him in the eyes. He felt like he was seeing a newer, softer side of her, something that both excited and concerned him. They said nothing for a few moments and he handed the cigarette back to her.

"I know what we agreed to, but what if we had a child now?" She questioned, and saw a slight look of surprise on Francis's face. "We're both well-established now and still moving up the ladder of success."

"There's only one rung left to this ladder," he chuckled, and she smiled, knowing he secretly wanted to be president, to have that kind of power, to hold the free world in his hands.

"Claire, in all seriousness, I believe you and I are much too old to be having children now. We are both busy with work from sunrise to sunset and then some, and I don't know if we could give a child the time and attention it needs," he explained, his accent thickening the slower he spoke.

This was the most progress she had ever made with him on the subject of children. They rarely ever spoke about it, and when they did, he didn't leave any room for any option besides no.

"I know I'm too old to have a baby, Francis. We could always adopt a child, and it doesn't even have to be a baby, the child could be a teenager-"

"Claire. Listen to what you're saying. A teenager still suffers in this cruel world just as much now as he would have then. He would barely be around before he went off to college," he said. She took her last drag off the cigarette and he took it from her, and this was one of the few times she felt he really wasn't listening to her.

"Francis, have you truly never had the urge to be a father? To hold _your_ child in _your_ arms, to shape a person's entire life, to love them unconditionally, to watch someone else grow up as you grow old?" She asked seriously, and he looked her dead in the eyes.

" **No**. I haven't," he said coldly.

"Maybe the abortions were for the best then," she said, slipping off her tongue as she stood up and walked to her side of the bed. She hated fighting with Francis, but she was honestly upset about this now. She took off her robe and saw him stand up out of the corner of her eye.

"I thought there were only two," he inquired softly, quickly putting out the cigarette in a glass ashtray on his dresser. She was already putting her walls up, as was he, for neither could stand the absolute hell that the other could unleash if prompted or necessary.

"You _knew_ I was lying in that interview, Francis, you know me too well. I don't have time for twenty questions, so ask what you need to ask," she said, lying in the bed with her back turned to him. He hadn't seen her this upset in years.

"How many?" He asked, taking a few steps to come stand beside the bed. He could at least be that much closer to her.

"Four."

 _Four. Oh my God. Four abortions. That means four children._ _ **Fuck**_ _. How on earth- how did I not know this? I can't believe this. She- No. I won't judge her. I can't. She had her reasons. How could she- stop it. Shut up. Hear her out. Jesus, four abortions._

"Why?" His hands were now in his pockets and Claire felt a chill as she pulled the covers up to her chin, remembering what a haunting experience the abortions were. She quickly pushed them to deepest, darkest part of her mind and knew she couldn't go back there again.

"First was McGinnis, second was another boyfriend in college. We didn't even date four months. A complete drunken accident."

He nodded and was afraid of the answer to the fourth. He knew the third; it was right before his campaign. They had relied solely on her birth control pill and it failed. They had thoroughly discussed a child for the first time then, and decided against it at the time. An abortion at sixteen weeks was their way out. He knew they had both slept with other people during their marriage, but surely she would've told him about a fourth abortion.

"The fourth was ours, too, Francis," she said, her voice breaking as a few tears rolled down her cheek. He didn't know what to say. His heart sunk deeper into his chest; he had a second chance to be a father and Claire never mentioned a word to him. It was that moment that he truly thought about what life with a child would have been like. It was the fact that he and Claire had made something more than their legacy, they had made a physical thing to leave on this planet, a human being. But he was too selfish for that.

 _She was pregnant again and didn't tell me._

"When?" He asked calmly but sternly, and she knew he was upset. She rarely saw him upset, but she knew this was real.

"Six years ago."

 _Goddamnit. The trips to China and South Carolina and Missouri. I was gone too much. Fuck._

"Why?" he asked with a quiet sigh, and she knew he wouldn't let this go. She also had wanted to tell him this entire time.

"I was afraid. There was a lot going on at the time. You were traveling a lot for work, so was I. I thought even longer and harder about this child than the last one," she admitted. "I thought about where we were in our careers and in our marriage. I was still unsure if you would want a child, and I didn't know if I was ready for it, so I never brought it up. I knew that was probably my last chance to carry a child myself, and I gave that up," she said, her voice breaking.

"We didn't see each other for almost a month there at the end due to traveling and hectic work schedules. I made sure no one knew. Not even you, and I apologize for that, Francis. It was selfish of me," she admitted.

More tears fell from her tired eyes and she could now hear his heavy breathing. She hoped she didn't regret saying too much and wondered what his next question was. How long this would go on before he cracked. She felt awful for not telling him now. She never expected him to find out. They shared another minute of silence before he raised the next question, and she knew he had a bigger heart than he let on.

"Did you want to keep it?" He asked calmly and softly, and was afraid of the answer. She knew by his tone of voice that he really cared about her answer to his question. He and Claire were not the most affectionate couple, but they were a damn good team and great friends if nothing else. He didn't want to see her hurt.

"Yes, Francis," she said, and he took in a breath and quickly went back downstairs. There were few times he felt worse than this in his entire life. He had deprived his best friend of a huge piece of her life.

 _I am the worst person on this planet. Not because of anything else I've done, not because of anyone that got fucked over or killed, it is solely because of this. I deprived her of a family. A legacy. A new path in life. I fucked up._

He walked into the dining room and grabbed the glass vase of pink tulips off the table, then hurled it again the wall in anger. His face was red as he looked up and saw the water dripping down the wall, surrounding the small crack he'd made with the vase. The tulips were scattered in the floor, and he sat down in a chair, hating himself.

Meechum came running into the room, hoping Francis hadn't hurt himself.

"Sir, are you hurt?" He asked, seeing the glass and flowers in the floor and the new crack in the wall.

"I'm fine, Meechum. I'll clean this up in the morning," he said through his teeth.

"Yes sir," he said calmly, concerned for his boss, and walked back to guard the front door.

Claire had heard every bit of it, and knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. She was shocked that Francis had gotten so upset over it, but she had needed to tell him the truth for some time now.

Francis openly cried then, but did so quietly, not wanting Claire to hear. Did he really want to be a father and have a child to take care of and raise? He wasn't sure. It was the fact of the matter right now for him. He had that chance and deprived both of them of parenthood because he was so selfish. He knew her decision was mostly because of him; they both knew she would have made a great mother.

He never apologized, but he knew he owed her an apology.

* * *

Francis paced the living room floor all night, almost sick to his stomach and unable to sleep. He looked at the clock and it was now 3:43 a.m., and he expected Claire to come tell him to go to bed any moment now. He felt terrible. It took a lot to get to him, but seeing Claire so upset was enough to do it. He knew behind the thick walls she kept up, there was a woman screaming, crying for help, for nurturing, for love, for affection. She had tried to smother that woman, but she sometimes let her slip through the cracks.

"Francis, what are you still doing up?" She asked as she came down the stairs in her bathrobe and saw him pacing.

"Go back to bed, Claire," he said firmly, his hands on his hips.

"You need to sleep," she replied.

"I can't," he sighed, and she walked to him and held on to his arms, looking into his eyes.

"You have to smother this person, Francis. You have to get rid of him. You can't live like this."

"Neither can you, Claire. I am genuinely sorry. I know I don't apologize, but I am right now. I didn't realize having a child meant this much to you," he said, and she could tell he was being truthful and sincere with his apology, which shocked her. She didn't know what to say, so she just hugged him tightly.

"Can I ask you another question?" He asked, and felt her nod "yes" into his shoulder.

"Was ours surgical or medicinal?"

"Surgical. I was almost twenty weeks pregnant at that point. That's when I said I had the flu and went to the doctor two days in a row. It gave me a little time to cope before you came home and we were together for a while again," she explained.

"I remember," he said softly, upset now.

"Francis, don't be upset. It was just as much my decision as it was yours. Please, don't be too hard on yourself," she begged of him. She pulled away and led him to the couch, where they both sat and wished they were upstairs, having a cigarette.

"When was the last time you thought about having a child?" He asked.

"Every day. After I helped Peter with his kids that day, I had a consultation with a fertility doctor. She said we still had options. We would both need to give them a blood sample and take medicine to increase our chances of getting pregnant, and we could try it naturally or through in-vitro fertilization," she explained.

"I'll set up a time through Doug tomorrow to get the blood sample, he said, and she didn't think he was serious.

"Francis, are you sure? I'm going through perimenopause, for God's sake. Who knows if it would even work," she said.

"Claire," he said softly, taking her hands into his. "I know what I said years ago. To tell you the truth, I've thought about having a child a handful of times, too. I know we're older and it doesn't look like this world is going to get any better," he laughs, "but I know how badly you want this. We can either try to get pregnant or adopt a child."

Claire just smiled, trying to process what her husband just said. He agreed to a child. Now she just had to make sure she still wanted one, and if she wanted to try to have a baby or to adopt.

"You're serious," she smiled.

"Couldn't be any more serious if I tried," he smiled. "Besides, don't you think it would be fun to raise a child in the White House?"

"So you _are_ running for Walker's position?" She asked, both nervous and happy. She was afraid of his being president taking a toll on their marriage, but also wanted to see him succeed.

"Yes ma'am," he said softly with a kiss. "Shall we get started tonight?" He asked, resting a hand on her thigh.

"Let me think about it some more," she said, and he knew he had to seduce her. She had gotten her hopes up and quit taking her birth control, but couldn't tell Francis yet. She knew this might be a risk tonight, but it was one she was willing to take.

"This time won't be about a baby. It'll be about...a celebration. Of a new chapter of our lives that might just include a child and me running for president," he smiled.

"Yes sir, Mr. Vice President," she said as he kissed her and scooped her up, going to carry her upstairs.

"Francis," she laughed, holding on to his neck and looking into his eyes.

"I won't drop you," he said confidently. "I promise I won't let go."

* * *

Francis sat in his office at 8:30 am the next morning after two hours of sleep after he and Claire made love last night. He didn't realize how much they had needed each other lately, they had both been so busy. He was working on his first cup of coffee when Doug walked in with a nurse in disguise.

"Good morning, Mr. Vice President," she said, and Francis stood up and shook her hand. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve as the nurse gathered her things to draw some blood. Doug stood in front of his desk and wondered what this was for. Francis signed a form and gave it to him and he glanced over it.

"Frank, may I ask why you're having blood drawn this early in the morning and why it needed to be done so urgently?"

"I'll let you know when I know," he said with a smile, and Doug only imagined what he could be up to. A few minutes later the nurse was finished, and Francis unrolled his shirt sleeve and put his "U" cufflink back on.

"Doug, I need you take these samples to this address," he said as he wrote down the address Claire texted him. "Give them to Joseph Frazier. He'll be waiting for you. Go in the back door."

"Yes, sir," Doug said, taking the paper, and the nurse packed up the samples and followed Doug out the door. Frank leaned back in his chair and took a moment to relax before his phone started to ring and meetings began. He picked up his phone and asked for a secure line to Claire's office in the East Wing.

"Good morning, Francis," she said happily. She was wearing a navy blue dress and black heels to match, and had her glasses on as she reviewed some conferences she had to attend in the next few weeks.

"Good morning, Claire. Doug is taking care of everything," he said.

"That's good to hear," she said. "How are you holding up today?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I've come into work on no sleep before. Two hours almost felt like eight," he joked, and his door flew open to see Linda waiting to talk to him. He held up a finger, telling her to wait.

"No kidding, the way things have been going lately," she laughed. "Will you be in late tonight?"

"I'm not sure. I'll let you know if I am. I need to go, a meeting is about to start," he said, clearing his throat.

"Goodbye, Francis," she said, hanging up.

"Mr. Vice President, the President would like a meeting with you this afternoon at three," she said.

He flipped through his daily agenda and saw he had a meeting with some senators, but quickly cleared it.

"I'll clear my schedule for then. Did he say what he wanted to discuss?"

"No, sir," Linda said.

"Thank you, Linda," he said, looking back at his agenda, and she quickly left the room. As soon as she left, his first meeting started and his day was off.

* * *

Around eleven that night, Francis came out of their bathroom with his teeth brushed and pajamas on, and his dirty clothes in hand. He threw them in the hamper and set out clean ones for the morning before getting in bed.

"I called a local adoption agency today," Claire said as she scrolled through her social media on her tablet and sat in bed.

"What did you think?" Francis asked, putting on his pajamas. He put his cufflinks away and got into bed beside her, giving her a kiss.

"I'm not sure if adoption is for us," she said, sounding disappointed to Francis.

"Why do you say that?"

"I would like a baby, but by the time he's grown up, we'll be too old to enjoy it. If we adopt a teenager, he won't be here long."

"So you want a son?" Francis inquired. A son would leave him with someone to pass his prized possessions on to. Someone to fill his shoes.

"I believe so," she smiled, locking her tablet and setting it on her nightstand. As much as she wanted a baby, she wanted to carry the child herself, yet she knew that the risk was too high. She knew, deep down she had even accepted, that she was too old to take care of a baby. She didn't have enough time for a baby and her job.

"You know, we could adopt a child that's fifteen or sixteen. Enjoy having a child around for a few years, get to watch him go off to college," he suggested.

"What if a child doesn't want parents as old as we are?"

"There is someone out there who does, Claire," he said. "A baby wouldn't care. A young child wouldn't care. If a teenager wants a family that desperately, he or she will know who the right people are, despite age."

"Good night, Francis," she said, giving him a kiss. She turned off her bedside lamp and laid down, leaving her husband with his thoughts.

* * *

Meechum opened the bedroom door, and Francis sat up straight, the hallway light shining in his eyes. He looked at the alarm clock that now read 2:49 a.m.

"Meechum, what the hell is going on?" He asked, and Claire stirred in her sleep. Francis gently laid a hand on her shoulder and she opened her eyes, seeing Meechum in the doorway.

"I need you two to come down to the safe room with me," he said, and they swiftly got out of bed. Francis grabbed Claire's robe and helped her get it on, then kept close to her as they followed Meechum downstairs.

As soon as they got into the safe room and locked the door, with Secret Service on the outside and inside, Meechum looked Francis in the eyes.

"Sir, you and the President have both just received two death threats. We're following the sources now. There's also been a bomb threat four blocks away, which leads us to believe this is a real threat, sir," he said, and Claire held on to Francis's arm as they sat down on the couch.

"What about Claire?" He asked, putting his arm around his wife as they sat down on the couch.

"No threats have been made towards her at this time. I have been advised to keep you here until further notice, sir, Mrs. Underwood," Meechum explained.

"Of course," Francis said, slightly annoyed. The protocol for threats was getting old quickly. He had been through threats as whip, and too many even as VP. He was tired of it. "Thank you, Meechum."

Meechum nodded and walked away, going to stand the second exit in the room. Francis looked around and counted six agents in the room and knew of six more outside. Any time there was a threat, more agents showed up. He knew at a time like this, they could not leave him in a room alone. He learned to block their presence out for the most part, and figured that was about to come in handy. He was feeling generous.

"You're planning something," she whispered into his ear. He couldn't help but smile back and could tell she was trying to figure him out.

"If we're going to be here for a while, we might as well make the best of it."

He leaned in and kissed her collarbone, slowly moving up her neck. He kissed and licked her soft skin, feeling that she was tense as his hand rested on the back of her neck. He gave the agent at the nearby a door a look, and he quickly turned around, informing the other agents to do the same.

"Francis, I don't think we should-"

"They're not listening, I promise," he said, looking into each other's eyes. "Please, let me take care of you," he rested his hand on her knee.

"Right now?"

"I'm not asking for anything in return. I just want to pleasure you, Claire," he explained, moving his hand up her thigh. She smiled and watched as he kicked the coffee table in front of them and watched it slide across the floor. He stood up and leaned over Claire, steadying himself using the back of the couch. He kissed her lips gently first, then moved to her neck, down to her collarbone, where he slowed down to raise her shirt as he positioned himself on his knees. He left kisses in between her breasts and then tended to each one, and he felt her relax. He looked up and saw her eyes were closed and her head tilted back, resting on the back of the couch. His tongue left a trail from her left nipple down to her navel, and he didn't hesitate to pull her pajama pants down to her ankles. She held on to his shoulders and as soon as she felt his tough fingers wrap around the band of her panties, she knew they were forever his.

He ripped the thin white fabric from her body and knew how she didn't like when he did that, but he had no self-control.

"Francis!" She raised her voice slightly, looking down at him with both anger and happiness.

"I'll buy you more," he said in a deep voice, placing his hands behind her knees and pulling her closer to the edge of the couch. He slipped her panties into his pocket and knew he would enjoy them later. He could smell she was ready, the sweetest smell he knew. He took all of her beauty in and dove in, wasting no time. He went as deep as he could with his tongue, encouraged as Claire played in his graying hair.

Their eyes met and she almost lost it; she saw the power-hungry savage in him and knew this would be interesting to say the least. She was never afraid of him hurting her, though. They might get rough, but nothing abusive.

"Francis," she whispered, almost out of breath. She knew the Secret Service knew what they were doing, and she didn't want to embarrass herself, but damn it felt good. She held on to the couch cushions beneath her and wrapped her legs around his neck, knowing she wouldn't last much longer.

"Be loud for me. Don't be shy," he said smugly, slipping a finger inside her and feeling her entire body tense.

"Oh, God," she said, closing her eyes, trying to pace herself. "Francis, please-" she begged with a groan.

"Look at me while I _fuck you_ , Claire," he growled, and pulled his fingers out, now putting two inside of her and letting his mouth work on her clitoris. She looked down at him and lost it, loving what he could do for her.

"Jesus, Francis," She groaned loudly, the best orgasm she had had in a long time washing over her entire body. He rested a hand on her stomach to keep her from shaking so much and cleaned her up until she came down from her high. He stood up and helped her to her feet, pulling her pajama pants up. He gave her a kiss and walked away, looking for Meechum. She sat back down, feeling rested and relaxed now.

"Meechum," Francis whispered to the man facing the second exit door, and he turned around.

"Yes, sir?" He asked quietly.

"Will you go get Claire a fresh pair of underwear, please?" He said, almost inaudible.

"Yes sir," he nodded, walking to the other door.

"Don't forget the creamer with the coffee, Meechum," he spoke up, and Meechum nodded again.

"Yes sir," he said, opening the door and going upstairs. Francis didn't see Claire on the couch and made his way to the bathroom. He heard the shower was on, and thought about joining her, but didn't want to give her any ideas. He appreciated that the safe room was built for them to stay here for up to a week if necessary, complete with a nice full size bathroom and bedroom for them.

He went back to the couch and sat down, picking up the TV remote and setting it back down, not wanting to see the commotion around his house.

"Fuck it," he whispered, turning it on. Every news channel was either stationed at the White House or in front of his house, and he knew this must be serious. He saw the police trying to evacuate his neighbors all along the street because of the bomb threat and he wondered if they would survive a bomb down here.

Meechum opened the door and quickly locked it, bringing in a tray with coffee, two cups, creamer and sugar. He set it on the table Francis kicked away earlier and leaned over Francis.

"Sir, I have Mrs. Underwood's undergarments in my pocket, if you would like to take them to her-"

"You can do it, Edward," he whispered with a suggestive eye, and Meechum was instantly turned on. He loved when Francis called him Edward.

"Yes sir."

He walked away and knocked on the bathroom door, startling Claire. She was almost done with her shower and wondered if Francis was coming to join her.

"Francis?" She asked, rinsing the conditioner from her hair.

"Agent Meechum, Mrs. Underwood," he said, and she wondered if Francis had sent him.

"What is it, Edward?" She asked, turning off the shower. She stepped out and dried off with a soft towel, wrapping it around her body.

"I have something for you, ma'am."

"Come in," she said hesitantly.

He opened the door and saw her standing there in nothing but a towel, imagining how beautiful she must be underneath. He quickly shut the door and wondered why Francis sent him, rather, why he _allowed_ him to come in. He reached in his pocket and pulled out her clean underwear and handed it to her.

"Mr. Underwood told me to give this to you," he said, and she smiled softly,

"Thank you, Edward," she said, locking eyes with him.

"Of course, ma'am."

He was about to turn around and leave when she let her towel fall to the cold tile floor, exposing herself to him. She threw the clean underwear on the counter and looked into his eyes. She stood so close to him their bodies were almost touching.

"You like what you see, Edward?" She asked, taking his hands and putting them on her warm, damp breasts.

"Yes ma'am," he said, knowing he shouldn't be allowing this. He let go of her soft breasts and shook his head. "Mrs. Underwood, I shouldn't-"

She unbuckled his belt and reached into his underwear, tugging on him hard, then giving his balls a quick squeeze before removing her hand from his pants. She guided his hand down her stomach and stopped right above her clitoris, making him suffer.

"What do you think Francis would say if he saw us like this?" She asked, cupping his balls through his pants with one hand and touching his neck with the other.

"I- he...I don't think he would approve, ma'am," he said nervously.

"Really? I think he would. In fact, I know he would _love_ to join us. But we'll keep this our little secret," she said, removing his gun and badge from his belt and setting them on the counter. She unbuttoned his pants and he stepped back.

"Mrs. Underwood-"

"Fuck me, Edward. I want you to touch me. To have sex with me," she said.

"That would be-"

"Forget the rules. Don't worry about Francis," she said, pulling his pants down, revealing his almost full erection in his boxers. "Go on, take them off."

He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants and boxers all the way off, slightly ashamed of his erection. He had dreamed of such an occasion before, but never thought it would become a reality.

"I didn't know you were so well endowed, Edward," she said, taking his penis into her hand and stroking it up and down softly.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with a small grin. She lowered herself to her knees and licked the pre-ejaculate from his semi-hard penis before standing up again.

"Don't get too excited yet, Edward," she teased, sitting on the bathroom counter and spreading her legs for him to see.

He could feel his cheeks getting red as he took in her beauty, stepping forward and removing his jacket and shirt, hanging them both on a towel hook. He removed his white T-shirt and socks, and stood before her completely naked, knowing what they were doing was dangerous.

He placed his hands on her hips and kissed her fiercely, loving her running her fingers through his hair while he admired her. He pulled away and kissed her neck slowly, leaving kisses all down her body. He stopped at her dripping sex and inserted two fingers, stroking her with just enough force to render her speechless. She threw her head back and closed her eyes as she kept one hand gripping the counter's edge and the other holding on to his shoulder. He pulled his fingers away and licked them clean, seeing a look of desperation in her eyes now.

"You taste better than I imagined," he whispered. "Do you have a condom?"

"Don't worry about it," she breathed heavily.

"Ma'am, I can't- "

"Fuck the ma'am shit, Edward," she said, trying not to lose focus. "Don't worry about it."

He nodded and stepped forward, thankful for his height and their low countertops. He took a deep breath as he pushed slowly into Claire, filling her more than enough. She inhaled sharply as pushed in and out, surprised how much bigger he was than her husband.

Her groans helped him set the pace as they wrapped their arms around the other. Claire tried to silence her cries of pleasure and pain as she reached for his pistol on the countertop.

"Claire- "

"Don't worry," she exhaled, pressing the gun against his temple. His thrusts slowed down slightly and she increased the pressure against his temple.

"Fuck me harder, Edward."

He pulled almost all the way out with each stroke before slamming back into her, her grunts and the sound of their skin hitting each other's encouraged him. He was a little nervous with her holding his gun to his head, but he tried to relax.

"Make me come like never before. Don't hold back," she said, her nails digging into his bare back and her grip tightening on his gun, making sure her finger wasn't close to the trigger as he kept one hand at the base of her neck in her hair and the other gliding down her body.

He was close to his release, but he wasn't sure how close she was. He gently rubbed circles on her clitoris as he continued thrusting hard into her. His kisses were deeper as he pulled her hair just enough to cause her slight pain, and she knew she was reaching her peak. Her tiny cries of pain and pleasure kept him going, and he pulled her hair harder as he came, groaning softly as his warm load erupted into her. She came immediately after, moaning loudly as she blacked out for a few seconds. He slowed his thrusts as she came to and set his gun down, sighing with relief.

"If anyone asks," she said, grabbing a clean washcloth off the countertop and turning the sink on to wet it, "I lost my contact and you were helping me find it."

He nodded as he pulled out of her and she took him in her hand once again to clean him up. He quickly got dressed again as she cleaned herself up, and he was putting his gun and badge back on when she stopped him.

"If you want to do that again, you'll need to ask Francis," she said as she put her clean panties on.

"Yes ma'am," he said, turning around and walking out the door. He concealed all emotion as he walked towards his post again, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. His heart was still beating fast and his palms were sweaty. He had just fucked his boss's wife while she held a gun to his head. He knew the Underwoods were interesting characters with multiple layers, but he never saw this side of either of them coming.

Claire came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing the same clothes she had on half an hour earlier, and sat beside her husband, who was intently watching the news and drinking his coffee. He had left his phone upstairs but knew if someone really needed to talk to him, they would call Meechum. She ran her fingers through her damp hair and picked up the other cup of coffee, adding a spoonful of sugar to it and drinking it.

"I can't believe you're watching this," she teased him, and he turned it off.

"Me either, to be honest," he laughed, putting his arm around her and looking at the clock on the wall. "I'm surprised no one has called yet. I would normally be getting calls from Doug and Seth by now in a situation like this," he said, seeing it was almost 4:30 am.

"They have them somewhere safe too. Francis?"

"Yes, dear?" He said, rubbing her arm softly, looking into her eyes.

"Last night," she said. "I meant to tell you. I've been off my birth control for three weeks now."

"So you've been expecting something to happen?"

"More hopeful than expecting. You were the first I've had sex with since I came off it," she assured him.

"And now Meechum," he whispered with a smile. "How was it?"

"Amazing," she admitted. "I blacked out for a few seconds."

Francis was surprised, looking at Meechum across the room, then back at his wife. "What did this man _do_ for you?" He asked with a smile, still in disbelief.

"I'll have to show you sometime. Or maybe he can show you," she smiled.

"So you're not mad?" She asked a few moments later, wondering now if she should have told him she quit her birth control sooner.

"I don't have the right to be. That's your decision," he said.

"But I were to get pregnant, that's something both of us have to deal with."

"And we will when the time comes. Regardless," he said.

Her heart felt so full, so happy in that moment. _When_ they get pregnant, not if. _Regardless_ of if he's the father or not. He was supportive of the idea, and she wasn't entirely sure if these were just feelings or guilty or if he was sincere.

"I'm going to try and sleep, since we won't be leaving any time soon," she said. "Wake me if you need me."

"Get some rest, Claire," he said, and she set her cup down and went and got in the bed in the next room over. He closed his eyes and dozed off quickly, hoping they would be let go soon.

* * *

"Mr. Vice President," Meechum said as he laid his hand on Francis's shoulder and woke him.

"What is it, Meechum?"

"They found the bomb, sir. We'll need to get in the shelter."

"I thought this was the shelter?" He asked, his attention immediately turning to Claire, who was being awoken by another agent. The clock now said 6:37 a.m.

"There's one more level below us, sir. Please follow me."

Francis stood up and watched the other agent bring Claire with him and they followed Meechum together. He led them to another hidden door in a closet. It opened from the floor and Meechum went first down the ladder so he could turn the light on. Francis went next, followed by Claire and another agent.

It was a much smaller room, almost like a severe weather shelter. The four of them fit comfortably, along with a supply of water and canned goods and a radio. There was a bench and two small sofa chairs for furniture, and a tube light bulb to illuminate the room. But a fifth person would be much too crowded, and Francis sat down in the sofa chair. Claire sat on his lap and he held her close. He knew she had never been through a threat this real, this intense, before, and she was frightened. He was used to threats slightly less dangerous on a daily basis at the Capitol.

"I love you, Francis," she whispered into the crook of his neck. He kissed her forehead and sighed, looking across at Meechum. He saw the worry in his eyes and knew this was real.

"I love you too, Claire."

Meechum reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad and a pen, writing something on it and handing it to Francis. He didn't want to scare Claire any more than necessary. Francis took the notepad and put on his glasses, reading it but trying to keep it out of Claire's view. He looked down and saw she had her eyes closed. Another agent came back with shoes for them and then shut the hatch door and closet door. Francis helped Claire put her boots on, then put his own on.

 _The bomb squad is trying to kill it right now. There's two minutes left on the timer. They've been out there for two hours now. I don't know if they'll be able to stop it in time, sir._

Francis gave his agent a look of concern and began writing back.

 _They're sure it's a real bomb and not a dud?_

He handed it back to him and Meechum took his time writing his reply.

 _Almost positive, sir. There is never a way to know for certain, but they can usually spot a fake. We are doing all we can to keep you two safe._

Francis sighed with disgust and picked up the pen.

 _What happens if it's real and does go off? How safe are we down here?_

He passed it back to Meechum, who was getting more and more information fed into his earpiece by the second.

"Yes sir. Yes sir," Meechum said into his wrist piece.

 _This shelter has been built to withstand any kind of disaster, sir. If it's real, someone knew what they were doing and it will probably reach us. If it's a large enough blast, every house on your street could be leveled. Some, not all of yours, may be. We are more safe in here than anywhere. One minute left, sir._

Francis became uneasy and kissed Claire's forehead again, hoping Meechum was right and this was not the end for them. He wasn't ready to die, but at least if he did, he and Claire would be together.

"Thirty seconds," the other agent said, looking at Meechum. They both heard "brace for impact" in their earpieces and quickly covered the Underwoods with their bodies best they could. Claire looked into Francis's eyes and he smiled, trying to keep her calm.

"Meechum said we'll be fine down here," He said, and she nodded, wondering why the bomb squad couldn't deactivate the bomb.

Francis pulled her as close to him as he possibly could and then heard a voice in the earpiece say there were ten seconds left. He counted them in his head and hoped this would be a quick death.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

The explosion shook the entire house. They witnessed the chaos through Meechum's earpiece. The rumbling lasted what seemed to be minutes, but Francis knew was only maybe ten seconds.

They were alive.

Meechum responded to his boss and knocked twice on the hatch door, and another agent opened it.

"Everyone ok?" Meechum asked, and the other agent nodded yes.

"How are things looking on the outside?" Francis asked, and the agent sighed.

"We're still getting reports. We're about to send an agent outside to assess the damage. The whole west end of the block has been leveled, sir. We have reason to believe your house has sustained some damage, but we are not sure of the extent yet. Everything is intact down here. This entire neighborhood is on lockdown. The mayor might issue a curfew. Rescue crews are waiting for the bomb squad to give them the all clear to start searching for survivors."

"How wide was the blast?" He asked.

"A quarter of a mile wide, sir."

"Jesus," Francis whispered. "Is the President safe?"

"Yes, sir. He and his family are fine."

"Will you call Doug and Seth and let them know we are ok?"

"Of course, sir," the agent said. "I'll be back with a report of the exterior in a little while."

Meechum nodded and closed the hatch, sitting down across from his protectees.

"Meechum, how much longer will we be down here?" Claire asked, and Francis held her hand, stroking it softly.

"Another half hour in here, up to another three to twelve hours in the safe room," he explained. "Do you need something from upstairs, ma'am?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," she said softly.

* * *

Five hours later, they were allowed out of the safe room. Meechum led them back upstairs, having already warned them that their house sustained damage. Francis emerged first, shocked to find their house crumbled around them. The only things left standing were the bulletproof windows, the kitchen, and part of their bedroom on the second floor. Claire gasped as she came out and saw their home in pieces.

"We will gather as many of your belongings as we can now to take with you to One Observatory Circle. The rest will be gathered as soon as possible. We are getting clothes for you to change in to. We will have agents guarding the premises around the clock, sir," Meechum told Francis as they stood in what was left of the dining room. An agent followed Claire into the kitchen, where she wiped away dust and ceiling debris from the countertop. She looked around and reached into the fridge, pulling out a new bottle of wine. She grabbed a corkscrew out of a drawer and jammed it into the cork, ready to drink. She went to open it when the agent tried to stop her.

"Mrs. Underwood, I don't know if now is the best time to be drinking-"

Claire opened the bottle, set the corkscrew down, and took a drink, then set the bottle down on the counter.

"I am not going to get drunk. My fucking house is gone. I need a moment," she said, taking another drink. Francis came over to her and took a drink, and she burst into tears. She never let him see her cry like this, but it felt like they had lost a piece of their empire. She buried her face into his chest and he held her until she was finished. He, too, was worried about what would happen next for them.

"Meechum, take another agent and go gather what things you can from upstairs, if you can make it upstairs," Francis ordered.

"Yes sir," Meechum said, ready to go get what he safely could. Over half of the second floor was now gone, but he was sure he would be safe. He would do whatever was necessary for Frank and Claire.

Claire backed away from her husband and took the wine bottle in her hand, taking a drink and pouring the rest down the sink drain. It wasn't like her to waste alcohol, but he didn't question her motives. She took a deep breath and felt the anger building in her chest, the frustration growing. She threw the bottle past his head and into the wooden cabinets now barely hanging on the wall.

" _This_ is why we can't have children, Francis!" She raised her voice and a tear came to her eye. Her face became red and her fists were clenched. "No child should have to be afraid of dying! To face death threats daily, all because I did what was best for me years ago. To have to live through a bomb exploding and tearing his house to pieces. To be a target because of who his parents are," she said, tears streaming down her face as she turned and walked across the rubble in the floor to where their front door once stood. All that was left was part of the doorframe, and two agents followed her. He was stunned; he didn't know what to say. She had a good point.

"Mrs. Underwood, if you could stay inside, please," one asked, and she stopped three feet shy of the entrance. She dropped her head and turned around and looked at the agent.

"Please, give us a moment," she said, and they both nodded, walking into the next room. She went back towards the kitchen and he could tell she was still frustrated. He had never seen her this upset, but figured she was still in shock.

"Don't you ever get tired of _this_?" She asked, and he didn't quite understand what she meant. "Of them following us around everywhere we go? I realize they just saved our lives and we are threatened right now, but I would like to take three steps without being followed the way a puppy follows its owner."

"I'll talk to the Director once this dies down," he said, meeting her halfway. "I do understand. It's just the price we pay to have this kind of power."

"You, Francis. _You_ have the power. I am just the Vice President's wife to most. But I will be damned if that's what I am remembered for," she said.

"Claire, what is this about?"

"You _will_ be President and I will be First Lady, _do you hear me, Francis?_ " She growled, her face only a few inches from his. He saw the anger in her eyes and knew she wasn't going to stop until they reached the top. "You figure out how to get Walker out of there as soon as possible."

She walked away and sat on the second step of the staircase, waiting for Meechum to finish packing their things. All Francis could do was smile.

She had just as much power as he did.

* * *

Claire waited in the limo for Francis to come out of the house, or what was left of it. She stared out the window at it, seeing piles of bricks and dust everywhere. Their living room furniture was still standing. The chandelier had fallen and glass was everywhere. All the bulletproof windows on the first floor were still standing; the second floor ones had fallen down with the frame. She could see their bedroom floor caving in slowly, and she figured it would fall before the sun rose in the morning.

Francis walked out of what used to be their front door with Meechum and two other agents behind him with their suitcases in hand. They loaded them into the SUV then got in the limo behind Francis. Claire watched as four agents began their watch outside and knew there were four more inside their house. Police had the entire street blocked off and on constant patrol until things were cleaned up. Francis took her hand in his, still looking at the remains of their house. She said nothing, knowing he felt the same as her. They were devastated. They had lived there ever since they moved to D.C., and their entire life was gone in an instant.

"We can come back and gather some more things once it is deemed safe to do so," Meechum told them.

"How soon do you think that will be?" Claire asked softly, and she saw the concern in his eyes.

"I would hope within a few days, but I'm not sure, Mrs. Underwood. I know this place meant a lot to you. This was your home. We will do everything we can to save what's left of it."

She nodded and said nothing else as they rode to their new home.

* * *

After unpacking a few things and getting a few hours' sleep, Francis and Claire ate an early dinner and he was briefed on everything he missed at the White House that day. Claire's assistant came out and gave her updates on her latest project, then left her to get settled. But she wasn't sure she could ever be settled here.

Later that night as Claire laid in their new bed in their new home, she couldn't get her mind to turn off. She was worried about their house, possibly moving into the White House soon, her work as Second Lady, and the possibility of them adopting a child. Francis was downstairs, getting an updated security briefing from the Secret Service. Her alarm clock read 1:30 a.m., and she prayed for sleep soon. It was usually her only escape from all of this.

* * *

Claire sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily and her forehead damp with sweat after a nightmare. She looked at the clock and saw it was only 3:45 a.m. Francis wasn't beside her, but he quickly emerged from the bathroom wearing his pajamas as she turned her lamp on.

"Claire, are you alright?" He asked, genuinely concerned as he sat on his side of the bed and took her hand.

"It's nothing," she sighed, running her hand through her hair, still in shock about her dream. She was thankful it was just a dream.

"Claire, you know you can talk to me," he said. He knew she never told too much, but he knew this dream had bothered her immensely. He needed her to vulnerable to him for once.

She laid down and faced him, and her chest felt tighter with each breath. She was on the verge of a panic attack.

"I had a nightmare of being outside an abortion clinic. People protesting, yelling, screaming that I'm in the wrong, that I'm a baby killer and deserve to be in jail. I was standing in the parking lot, then began my walk of shame but it just kept getting longer and longer and it was like I could never reach the front door," she said. "Ok?" She asked annoyedly, and turned over so her back was to him.

"I know yours were private, but were they done legally?" He asked, and she sighed, hating to tell him the answer. He wouldn't care either way, but he could at least try to protect her from backlash if they weren't legal.

"Yes," she said softly. "The doctor did it off the record and in private, but he worked for a legal abortion clinic. He's licensed to perform them."

He asked no more questions, not wanting to cross any further into this territory if she didn't want to. He went too far the other night, and he wasn't about to hurt her like that again.

"I was just looking out for us, Francis," she whispered, breaking the silence.

"I know. Would you change anything if you had it to do over again?" He asked.

Claire laid there, unable to speak, and had nothing more to say. She didn't want to upset him again. She didn't want to tell him the truth, that, _yes_ , she would have kept their first child together, and if their second still would have come along, they would've kept that child too. She didn't have it in her to say it again. She was trying to bury this person, the mother inside of her. To kill what could never be.

He got no response, and went to sleep.

Claire got up almost thirty minutes later and headed downstairs to wander around. She saw an agent by the front door and another in the kitchen, and she smiled softly at them and looked around at her new home. She found Meechum in the sun room, sitting in a rocking chair quietly, looking out the window. He must have heard her footsteps, because he turned around and was surprised to see her.

"Mrs. Underwood, what are you doing awake?" He asked, standing up.

"No need to get up, Edward. I had a bad dream and couldn't go back to sleep," she said softly, going over to a window to look at the moon.

"This place is huge," she said, pulling her robe tighter around her cold body.

"It is. It's very nice."

"Could I go for a run now?" She asked.

"Let me call Agent Terrill. He's one of the agents that is on duty here all the time. He knows the grounds well, I would prefer if he went with you," Meechum said, pulling out his phone. He dialed Agent Terrill and immediately got an answer. Claire sat down in one of four rocking chairs and closed her eyes, trying to relax. She blocked out Meechum's voice, the moonlight washing over her body, Francis, everything and everyone for a few moments.

"Mrs. Underwood?" Meechum laid a hand on her shoulder and she was jolted awake from her thoughts.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Agent Terrill and Agent Hasden will be here in a few minutes to escort you on your run."

"Thank you," she said as she stood up. "Where did my shoes end up?" She asked. Her suitcase that made it to the bedroom had her makeup, clothes, and toiletries, but no shoes. She only knew where the pair of flats were that she wore over here.

"Downstairs in the guest room," he said. "That's where we are storing your belongings for now. Shall I bring your shoes to you?"

"I can get them," she said, walking out of the room and back to her new bedroom. She quietly pulled out a t-shirt, her favorite black sports leggings, and the first sports bra she could find. She took them downstairs to change into, knowing Francis was a light sleeper and didn't want to wake him.

She stepped out of the guest bathroom and found her bag of shoes, and put on her black running shoes and did her stretches. She saw a good bit of her other belongings in the room and she fought the urge to go through them all. She could mourn in the day; now she needed to blow off some steam. She walked into the hallway and found Agent Terrill and Agent Hasden waiting for her by the front door. They were wearing athletic shorts and tennis shoes, and matching black shirts. They both had their earpieces in and watches on, and she was curious as to how many weapons they had on under their clothes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Underwood," they said.

"Good morning," she said softly with a smile.

"Agent Greg Terrill," he introduced himself.

"And I'm Agent Scott Hasden, ma'am."

"Is it ok if I just call you Greg and Scott and you just call me Claire? I'm fine with a first name basis," she said.

"You may call us that, Mrs. Underwood. Out of respect and safety, we will address you as Mrs. Underwood or a code name," Greg explained.

"But you can call me Claire in here, right?" She asked, looking at Scott.

"If you wish."

"Please. Now how about this run?"

"Let's get to it," Scott said, looking at his watch and seeing it was now 4:10 a.m., and wondered how far she would want to run. Greg opened the door and Claire led the way into new territory.

* * *

Francis woke up at 6:30 a.m. and clutched the soft gray comforter tightly. He saw Claire wasn't beside him and he wondered where she was. He had a crazy dream and wanted to tell her all about it. He dreamed they had just moved into this new home and he heard a baby crying. He got out of bed and walked down the hallway only to find out they had three children - a fourteen-year-old son named Daniel, a seven-year-old son named Johnathan, and a three-month-old baby girl named Paisley. He took Paisley out of her crib and rocked her until she stopped crying, then took her into the kitchen, where her brothers were now making themselves breakfast.

"Boys, where's your mother?" Francis asked.

"She's outside in the pool," Daniel said as he ate a spoonful of his cereal. Francis looked at the kitchen clock and saw it read 9 a.m. How had he managed to sleep this late? How was Claire always up so early with these kids?

He stepped out on their back patio with Paisley and found a Secret Service agent outside with Claire. She was wearing a black one-piece bathing suit as she swam in the pool. As she paused between laps, she saw Francis and Paisley standing near the edge of the pool.

"Good morning, Francis," she said happily as she got out and gave him a kiss, and then smiled at Paisley. "How is my baby girl today?" She cooed, wiggling her tiny baby feet and causing her to laugh. Claire grabbed her towel and dried off, then looked in the kitchen and saw the boys eating. Francis was amazed at his wife's figure. She had always been petite, but even after two children and recently having a third, she looked amazing. He knew she used to be a little self-conscious about her figure, but motherhood must have calmed her worries. She still had some baby weight left over, and he hoped she wouldn't try too hard to lose it. He liked seeing her with a little more meat on her bones. Motherhood had filled her out, and he loved it.

"Has she been fed yet?" She asked, and Francis looked down at his daughter and couldn't believe he hadn't thought about that yet. He knew she had to be hungry.

"No, not yet," he said, and Claire sat down in a lounge chair and laid her towel across her chest. She lowered her swimsuit strap and dried off her breast, and motioned for Francis to bring Paisley to her. He gently handed her to his wife, and she laid her on her chest, immediately latching on to her breast. Claire rubbed her tiny back and sighed happily.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked Francis, who stood there in disbelief. He had no words. He felt like a terrible person. Here they were with three children and Claire was a wonderful mother, something he deprived her of.

"Francis?"

"Yes, I did," he said, looking around the backyard. "Did you?"

"I got to sleep six hours, which was a first in months. I'm surprised Paisley didn't wake us up last night," she laughed. "She's just a pretty good baby."

"Yeah," he smiled softly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Francis came back to reality and quit replaying this dream over and over in his head. He realized what a huge mistake he had made. He had missed out on so much. He grabbed his phone and saw Doug had told him not to worry about anything, he had everything handled, then shoved his phone in his pocket. He got out of bed and opened his bedroom door to find Meechum on duty in the hallway.

"Meechum," he said. "What are you still doing here?"

"I get off duty at 7, sir."

"Where's Claire?"

"She went for a run, sir."

"Alone?"

"I sent two agents that know the grounds with her."

"How long have they been gone?"

"Since about 4:30, sir."

"It's not like her to be gone this long," Francis said with slight concern. Meechum radioed Greg for a location and waited patiently for his answer.

"They're about seven miles away, sir. They're fine. She's just exploring her home."

"Thank you, Meechum," he sighed, walking downstairs to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He sleepily rambled around and found coffee and filters in the cabinet, and he wondered how quickly they stocked this place up for them. He fixed the coffee pot and pulled his phone out, calling Doug.

"Good morning, sir," Doug answered. He was sitting in his office down the hall from Francis's, and was typing email after email, replying to hundreds he had gotten throughout the last 24 hours about the bombing.

"Good morning, Doug. How is everything at the office?"

"A little busy, but fine. The bombing is keeping the press and press secretary busy," he joked. "I have hundreds of emails about it. I rescheduled your meeting with the ambassador of Brazil and the meeting with the Air Force pilots-"

"Are you sure you don't need me to come in?" Francis inquired. "I have a lot of work to do myself, and only so much can be done from here."

"Frank, it's better for everyone if you just stay where you are. The Secret Service have almost tripled their presence here since yesterday. I know it's just as bad at the Observatory for you. Walker hasn't even come in yet and I don't know that he will. Linda cancelled all of his meetings today too. If you're worried about Tusk, I got it," Doug reminded him he could handle whatever came his way.

"I'll call Garrett in a little while. Thank you, Doug," he said, knowing now wouldn't be the best time to fight to go in to work.

"Do you need me to do anything else for you, sir?"

"Will you call Joseph Frazier and see if any test results have come in yet?"

"Of course. Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do, Doug. Goodbye."

They hung up, and Francis felt trapped in his new house. He didn't want to wander outside. He didn't feel like running. He wanted to play his video games. He poured a cup of coffee as soon as it was finished and drank it black, then found the nearest agent.

"What's your name?" He asked the agent in the living room.

"Agent Quale, sir," he said with a nod.

"Would you happen to know if any of the games made it here?" He asked, and Agent Quale radioed to an agent in the basement.

"They're here, sir. I'll show you the basement," he said, and led the way through the living room and down the hall to a closed door, which led to the basement. He opened it and turned on the light, revealing the lavish decorations. There was soft white carpet, two sofas, weights, a treadmill, a stationary bike, an elliptical, a rowing machine, and a huge 60-inch flat screen TV and Xbox. Frank took it all in and sat on the couch, turning the TV on and picking up his controller.

"When Claire comes back, tell her I'm down here. And would you mind turning the lights off? And leave the door open," he said, putting on his headset.

"Yes sir," Agent Quale said, going back upstairs and turning the lights off. Frank started up the Xbox and logged in, then began his previous game where he left off almost two weeks ago. He turned up his headset and let his mind wander with the sounds of gunshots.

This was his only escape right now.


End file.
